


Holding On to You (But Letting Go of Me)

by BlackWolf105



Series: Barely Holding On at All [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Root - Character Study, Sam Groves - Character Study, again its complicated, but also just lots of feelings, canonical violence, introspective, kinda sad, pre-canon to early-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWolf105/pseuds/BlackWolf105
Summary: “Because.” Hanna stood, her pout changing to a smile as she grabbed her bag from the floor. “One day, I’m going to get to Oregon.”/**A Root character study
Series: Barely Holding On at All [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996453
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Holding On to You (But Letting Go of Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is what happens when I have SylviaNightshade beta my work. She wants more.   
> So here we are. I spent five hours writing this instead of a paper. Oops.

“ _Ugh_.”

Samantha Groves peered over Hanna’s shoulder, gazing at the computer scene in front of them; her small but genuine smile evident in her voice as she read aloud the words on the screen. “You have died of dysentery.” She blinked incredulously, “Again?”

Hanna rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance, but Sam could see the affection in the action. “This game is _hard_ , Sam.”

“You’ve been saying that since you were fourteen.”

“Well, it is!”

Sam let out a laugh at the pout which accompanied the words. Shaking her head, she reached out and hit the computer’s power button; in an instant, the screen went black. “It’s been what, ten years and you still can’t win. Why do you keep playing it anyway?”

“Because.” Hanna stood, her pout changing to a smile as she grabbed her bag from the floor. “One day, I’m going to get to Oregon.”

With a grin, Sam grabbed Hanna’s hand, tugging her towards the doors to the library and pulling her out into the sunlit street. Spinning around, she faced the other woman, her arms stretched out to either side. “Well, would you look at that, Darlin’,” Sam couldn’t hide the Texan accent that broke through on the last word, and it only made both girls smile wider. “You’re here.”

Hanna let out a laugh, and Sam couldn’t stop smiling as she lowered her arms; one hand reflexively reached out to once more grasp Hanna’s, tugging the other girl close enough for Sam to press a kiss to her cheek.

“What do you think? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

Hanna laughed; head thrown back as she wrapped her arms around Sam, tugging the younger woman closer.

Pressing their lips together for a moment, she pulled back, her smile blinding.

“Yeah, it really it.”

Sam woke with a start, her heart pounding, the ghost of a smile on her face. For a minute, she forgot where she was, lost in her dream.

Blinking blearily, she ran a hand over her face, trying to rub away the remnants of sleep. She glanced over at the old clock hanging on the wall; the glass dusty and cracked, the hands limp and stuttering.

It was far too early for the thirteen-year old to be awake, especially with school the next day.

Throwing her feet off the couch she’d found herself sleeping on more and more these days, Sam stood and made her way quietly towards the closed bedroom door.

“Mama?” Gently, the young girl knocked, waiting a moment before quietly, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Mama, are you up?”

Silence greeted her words. Pushing the door open more, she peered into the darkened room; she could just barely make out the woman lying atop the covers, her soft snores smothered by the impressing silence.

For a moment, Sam stood in the doorway, simply watching, before she made her way across to the bed; reaching out, she gently tugged her mother’s boots from her feet before picking the haphazardly thrown blanket from the floor and softly laying it across the woman. Bending down, she picked up the little orange bottles from the floor, placing those with pills still inside on the bedside table and the rest in her pocket to throw away.

Standing up, she stared at the sleeping woman’s face; her brown hair was thrown across the pillow behind her head, face pale and drawn and far too sad even in sleep. Sam stood in the suffocating silence, simply watching her mother breathe. After a moment, she leaned down, pressing a kiss to the woman’s forehead before leaving the room, the door gently closing behind her.

Throwing the bottles away in the kitchen, Sam stood, gazing around at the dirty dishes and dirtier floors, wondering exactly what it was that had woken her up.

It certainly hadn’t been the dream; the one of Hanna, safe and happy and _here_ , and of the two of them having found their way to Oregon and, eventually, to each other. A dream that was everything Sam couldn’t let herself hope for while she was awake.

Sadly, it didn’t always work.

And when she heard that _thud, thud, thud_ of someone knocking on their front door, she couldn’t stop the reflexive catch of her breath in her throat as, for one small moment, she let herself hope.

Making her way to the door, she bit her lip, hand frozen on the cold doorknob, until it shook under another barrage of pounding.

Eyes wide, she flung open the door, her heart pounding at the possibilities that she could find on the other side.

And she tried to hide the disappointment as she was faced with an empty doorstep; the wind whipping the half dead plant hanging from the gutter into the empty space where the door had been.

Standing in the empty doorway for a moment, she stared up at the planter; the feeling of a weight sitting low in her stomach.

Closing the door, Sam turned away, one hand reaching up to rub once more at her eyes, pretending that the moisture gathering within them was due to nothing more than her untimely awakening as she made her way back towards the couch. 

*-*-*

Keeping her head bent low over her books, Sam made her way quickly to the back of the classroom, her ratty sneakers the only thing she allowed herself to really see as she quietly sunk into her seat.

All around her, the classroom was alight with activity; boys and girls flirting and fighting, throwing paper airplanes at one another, and gossiping about who slept with who and who broke whose heart.

Sam had never really felt a part of it, of them; she’d always felt distant, knowing that there was something… different about her, and it only made sense that others knew it too. She didn’t really have friends – no one to throw paper at or with whom to share the latest news about classmates. She was invisible to them, only noticed when she did something they deemed wrong – like when she turned down Derek Marks when he asked her to homecoming earlier in the year.

But today? Today she felt even more separate from it then ever before; she felt like the world was moving to quickly under her feet, but somehow she wasn’t falling. Like she was standing in the middle of a crowd, with people yelling and laughing and talking all around her, but no sound reached her ears.

Glancing down at the well-worn watch on her wrist, she bit her lip, her entire body almost vibrating from nerves. She knew she was safe; she’d learned enough about computers to know how to cover her tracks.

And yet, she couldn’t help this strange feeling; it was almost reminiscent of the feeling she got the day she met Hanna, like she knew that from this moment on, her life was going to change. And just like then, she didn’t know how.

Kicking a rock down the street in front of her, Sam made her way towards the library; her feet took her there on instinct despite the fact that she’d enjoyed it less and less since the day Hanna disappeared.

She supposed it was habit at this point; a recurring loop she’d written without an end condition, unable to escape, fated to relive the same steps time and time again.

The flash of blue and red light illuminating her sneakers gave her pause, and she looked up to find one of the sheriff cars sitting in front of the library, lights still flashing, door sitting open and empty.

Her heart jumped, her feet almost tripping with how suddenly they stopped, and she stared, mesmerized by the brilliance of the colors, a million thoughts running through her mind.

Should she stay here? Go in? Walk away?

In the end, she supposed there was never really a choice; she couldn’t escape the loop, no matter how hard she tried.

Pushing her way into the dark and dusty building, she could see Sheriff Landry talking to Mrs. Russell; the woman was seated in a chair pulled up beside the desk, tears running down her face as the man lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Unnoticed by the pair, Sam stood watching, a strange feeling settling in her stomach; it was a far cry from the nervous weight that had been resting on her shoulder since she’d completed what she’d set out to do. It felt heavier, not quiet enough like guilt, but not really satisfaction either. 

In all of the times she’d envisioned this playing out, she’d never really given Mrs. Russell that much consideration, though of course she would have had to be told.

“Did you hear what happened?”

Startled from her thoughts, Sam turned to the boy who’d stepped up beside her; it was someone she went to school with, that much she knew, though in that moment she couldn’t recall his name.

Sam simply shook her head. “No.”

“Apparently some of the Sheriff’s guys found Mr. Russell’s body out on the highway this afternoon. Shot in the head or something.”

Sam blinked, the strange feeling growing stronger. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the teenager nodded, his eyes wide. “I heard the Sheriff talking about it to Mrs. Russell. He said it looked like some kind of drug killing!”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, come on. Mr. Russell? Doing drugs?” He let out an incredulous laugh. “I bet it was just some random shooting.”

Sam nodded half-heartedly in agreement, which seemed enough for the boy as he quickly moved on to inform whoever else he could find of the news.

Quietly, Sam made her way closer to the adults, making sure to still remain hidden from their view.

“Do you have any idea who would have wanted to hurt him, Barbara? Any at all?” The low, somewhat soothing voice of the Sheriff drifted through the stacks to Sam.

“No!” At the sound of Mrs. Russell’s tear choked voice, Sam felt the strange, uncomfortable feeling intensify, “Trent was a- a-” She cut off; Sam bit her lip, her legs aching to move, but unable to. Mrs. Russell took a deep breath, her voice soft and broken, “What sort of person would do this?”

Sam closed her eyes for a moment, before slowly backing away, Barbara’s last words echoing in her ears.

Sam stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Her mother had been asleep when she’d arrived home, later than usual from the library. Sam had toyed with the idea of making dinner, but found that, only four bites into the leftovers she’d dug out of the fridge and despite having skipped lunch, she wasn’t all that hungry.

She tried to do some homework but couldn’t focus long enough to actually get anything done. Then she’d tried going to sleep with minimal results.

And so she’d found herself standing in the bathroom, staring at her own reflection, Mrs. Russell’s final words playing on a loop in her mind.

“What sort of person…” Sam whispered softly into the still air, her breath fogging the mirror in front of her, obscuring her face for a moment from view.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Everything she’d ever learned said not a good one, but she wasn’t a bad person; not like _him_. She was just doing what no one else would, what no one else _could_.

But that wasn’t wrong, was it? Afterall, if he’d been caught he’d have died anyway, so really, she was just doing the inevitable – just… a little faster.

So why did she feel so weird?

“Sam?”

Turning, the young girl found her mother standing blearily in the doorway; Sam could have sworn she was wearing the same clothes she wore two days ago, but found she didn’t have the energy to ask whether she had even bothered to get out of bed since Sam had last seen her.

“What are you doing awake?” Her mother frowned in a way that made it look as if it took far to much energy to be concerned. “You have school tomorrow.”

“It’s Friday, Mom.” Sam tried to keep the exhaustion out of her voice; not that she needed to bother, her mom probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

“What? But, I could have sworn…” The woman’s voice trailed away as her eyes lost some of their focus.

With a sigh, Sam moved to step past the older woman, only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she found her mother’s gaze on her.

“You know I love you, right, Sammy?”

Sam bit her lip, everything she’d been feeling all day starting to become too much as the tears pricked in her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Because I do, kiddo. I love you so much, and nothing could ever change that.” The woman lay a hand against Sam’s cheek for a moment, before stepping past the younger girl and into the bathroom, the door closing softly behind her.

For a moment, Sam just stood there, staring at the closed door. A part of her wondered what her mother would say if she told her what she’d done. Would she still love her then? Would that change anything? Would that change _everything_?

She supposed it already had.

What sort of person? Not the person she was two years ago, that’s for sure.

She could barely recognize that person now; she looked at pictures of herself with Hanna, and it was like staring into the face of a stranger.

She didn’t feel like that person anymore; she didn’t feel like _Sam_ anymore.

Turning away from the door, she wiped the tears from her face and made her way over to the couch where she’d left her books laying on the coffee table.

She didn’t feel like Sam anymore, but if she wasn’t Sam then… who was she?

She stared down at her books, her notebooks, her pens and pencils, the whole time feeling like she was staring at someone else’s things.

Her eyes drifted over to a picture on the wall. It was of Hanna and Sam in the library, standing in front of the bank of computers; computers which always seemed to make more sense than people. Than herself.

To her, computers seemed to be everything that people weren’t: logical, simple, easy to understand. She could make a computer do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No heartbreak or heartache, no judgment, no weird looks, no strange feelings settling in the pit of her stomach.

When she used a computer, she was in control; she could do what she wanted. She used to think that it _only_ worked with computers, that she could only be _that_ person with a computer, but that wasn’t really true.

She’d proven that today. She could make people do what she wanted just as easily as a bunch of pixels on a screen. She said the word, and Trent Russell paid. 

For the first time that day, she felt her lips quirk upwards into a small smile.

So maybe she couldn’t be Sam anymore.

Was that really so bad? After all, Sam had tried to help Hanna, and look at what that had accomplished. A six-month long investigation that culminated with nothing.

No, it wasn’t _Sam_ that had finally done something about Trent Russell.

It was Root.

The next day after school, instead of going to the library like she had been for years, Root made her way home.

*-*-*

Root pulled her hood down as she stepped into the small café, taking a slow look around the place before making her way towards the counter.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” The woman – Lisa, if Root was to trust her nametag – smiled brightly.

Root smiled back. “Hi. Can I get a cup of coffee? Black, two sugars. And do you have internet?”

The woman nodded. “Here’s the password, and your coffee will be right up.” She pushed a piece of paper across the counter towards Root, who took it graciously and handed over the money for the coffee.

Making her way over to an empty table by the window, Root pulled her computer from her bag; it had cost almost everything she’d earned working for four years of high school and then after graduation, but in her mind, it was more than worth it.

She was finally free.

Despite whatever feelings she had about her mother’s death, Root couldn’t deny that a part of her was, well, _relieved_. Relieved that she could finally move on and do something that _she_ wanted to, rather then stay at home – giving up the dreams of college that her and Hanna had had all those years ago – to take care of a woman she barely knew.

She had the funeral; attended by a meager handful people Root barely knew and who her mother certainly hadn’t, whose condolences were half-hearted at best.

The day after, she’d thrown her bags containing what little possessions she actually cared about in the back of her mother’s old car and left town.

There was nothing tying her to that place anymore, nothing tying her to the childhood dreams she’d lived on for so long, to Hanna and the ever-present ache of her disappearance.

Nothing tying her to Sam and the person she used to be.

She was _free_.

And now, she just had to make sure she stayed that way.

Taking her coffee from the counter with one last smile at the barista, she made her way back to her computer. Setting the coffee down, she opened the computer and started to work.

If she did this right, she’d never have to be Samantha Groves again.

By the time she was done erasing all traces of her past, it was getting dark outside; the sky a mix of colors as the sun sank below the distant horizon.

Leaning back, she let out a breath, the smallest of smiles on her face as, for the first time since she was twelve, she felt like she could breathe.

*-*-*

Root stepped into the motel room, the door closing firmly behind her as she leaned back against it.

She stared at the wall across from her, a soft laugh falling from her lips as she replayed the last hours of the day in her mind.

“Well played, Harold.” She had counted on a lot of things; Harold’s human guard dog diligently tracking her down was not one of them. Though she supposed that was partially her fault. “Guess I should have broken the phone.”

With a sigh, she pushed herself off the door, reaching into her pocket to pull out the car keys she’d stolen from a man in the train station.

Harold was the easiest way to get what she wanted, but he wasn’t the only way.

Grabbing the TV remote from the table, she powered up the set as she pulled a wig and make-up from her bag. A few touch-ups and she’d be all set to stake out Weeks’ apartment.

“In other news, a twenty-year old cold case in a small Texas town appears to have finally been solved. Brian, care to fill us in?”

Root paused in her finishing touches as she processed the words from the television.

Slowly, she turned towards the TV.

“No problem, Matt. I’m here in Bishop, Texas where the body of a fourteen-year old girl has just been uncovered.”

Root felt her chest compress as she sank slowly onto the bed, eyes glued to the screen.

“The local Sheriff’s Department has identified the girl as Hanna Frey, who has been presumed dead since her disappearance nearly twenty years ago. Earlier today, the department received a break in the case thanks to the help of visiting NYPD detective…”

The man continued to relay the story of Hanna’s disappearance, but Root wasn’t listening.

_NYPD? What would the NYPD be doing in Bishop?_

Frowning, she pulled her computer from her bag, and quickly accessed the Bishop Sheriff Department security cameras from earlier that day.

And there was the _last_ person she expected to see.

Harold’s words came back to her. _You’re wrong. He proves you’re wrong._

Root stared at the image frozen on the screen; John Reese, standing in the middle of the main lobby wearing a USPS uniform.

Hours later, as she sat in a car watching the police pulling Weeks’ body from his mistress’s house, she pulled her phone from her pocket.

For a moment she stared at it, before dialing a number she was sure she shouldn’t have – but hey, if they don’t want people to find something, they should learn to hide it better.

The phone gave only a few short rings before it stopped.

“Is this a bad time, John?”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are. I wrote it and you read it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Again, kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
